


Snowstorm

by mssdare



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Fanfiction, Fluff, Light Bondage, M/M, Tattoos, dragonlord, flangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-02-26 15:47:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2657612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssdare/pseuds/mssdare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Uther's death Arthur sets out on a quest to find Merlin. But gaining Merlin's trust--after Arthur betrayed him so severely in the past--might be an impossible challenge.<br/>Merlin Holidays gift for RocknVaughn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snowstorm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RocknVaughn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RocknVaughn/gifts).



> Dear RocknVaughn, I kind of took your prompt and run away with it a little. I wanted to write angsty d/s but... this gentle story came out instead. I hope you'll like it anyway! Thank you for all the amazing fic ideas!
> 
> Many thanks to my beta and my britpicker and prereaders!
> 
> Warning: infidelity

**Snowstorm**

 

“Bloody mountain,” Arthur thought as loose rocks rolled from under his boots. The climb was steep, the mountain unwelcoming and cold, and his feet kept slipping on ice. Patches of plants, dead and dark, poked out of the snow like burned-out holes. He only hoped he wouldn’t have to climb too high, though from this distance everything up top looked pure snowy white. He honestly couldn’t imagine why anyone would willingly choose to live in a place like this. But then again, this mountain was a perfect hideaway for those who didn’t wish to be found.

Arthur sat heavily on the edge of a rock and checked his waterskin, but it was empty; he'd have to find a stream or melt some snow if he wanted to drink. He was sweating under his doublet and chainmail, but as he sat the sweat turned into icy droplets and Arthur started to shiver. He pushed his fingers into his damp hair and wrapped his cloak tight against the cold wind. If he didn’t get some rest for at least a moment he wouldn’t be able to climb that damn hill. He’d already been going for two days.

He must have dozed off, because when he opened his eyes the mist had  thicker and it was even colder than before. He grunted and stood up slowly, stiff from the cold, and stopped dead when he saw the dark shape of a man standing on the edge of a nearby ridge.

He couldn’t see the face of the man; it was hidden by the dusk and by the long hair that fell down his cheeks. But there was something familiar about his posture—the slope of the shoulders, right leg slightly bent as if the man tried to look shorter than he was—and Arthur would know this shape even in his dreams.

Merlin stood still and silent. Arthur straightened up, cleared his throat, and waited for a greeting, or a curse maybe. Any word from Merlin would be good. But Merlin just kept standing there in the shadows, and after a while he turned on his heel and walked away, moving fast and sure as if hopping on the loose, slippery shale were child’s play.

“Merlin, wait. Merlin!” Arthur found his voice and stumbled after Merlin, praying he wouldn’t fall into any crevasses as he tried to keep up. They marched on and on at a quick pace that made Arthur’s heart pound, his breath rasp, and his lungs burn. He kept his eyes on Merlin’s back and his long jacket stitched from furs and leather. Merlin’s boots were fur-lined too, and they muffled the steps so that Merlin moved smoothly and soundlessly. Arthur started thinking that perhaps Merlin was a ghost, or that maybe he himself was dreaming, and he’d wake up sleep-deprived and cold on the edge of the snowy mountain, still clutching his empty waterskin.

Just when Arthur decided that this chase was madness and he should just give up, turn around, and go back to Camelot while he was still alive, Merlin vanished. Arthur ran through his footprints only to see Merlin retreating inside a dark cave. Arthur ducked his head and followed Merlin inside, feeling the walls with his palm. In the darkness, the stone was ice-cold and slick under his skin.

Merlin was kneeling with his back to Arthur, gathering something on the ground.

“ _Forbearnan_.”

Fire licked to life in the branches under Merlin’s hands, and then he stood up and turned. His long hair fell past his jaw, messy and dark, and what the hair didn’t hide Merlin’s scruffy beard did, concealing his expression. But when Arthur caught a glimpse of Merlin’s eyes they were cold and distrustful.

“What do you want?” Merlin asked.

“Is this how you greet your friends?”

"No."

The silence stretched. Arthur looked down, heat flaming his cheeks at the memory of the last time he’d seen Merlin: full retreat, the sound of the arrow hitting flesh, and Merlin's muted cry.

“Merlin—”

“I don’t go by that name anymore.” And yes, Arthur knew that. He’d learned as much from the Druids who pointed him in Merlin’s direction, but to him Merlin was still the same person—his servant. His best friend. Not Emrys the sorcerer.

“I'm sorry. I never wanted for you to get hurt."

"And yet you ordered them to hunt me like a dog. You _shot_ me." There was no heat in Merlin's voice, just cold regret, and it made Arthur want to double over and vomit, or cry. He had no excuses for Merlin. It didn’t really matter that back then Arthur had been trying to spare Merlin's life, that he’d considered an arrow’s gash a lesser evil than seeing Merlin burn, that he’d shot the arrow himself to make sure Merlin would make it alive. Still, he’d pursued Merlin until he stumbled and fell, and only the fire Merlin had conjured with a spell, not dissimilar to the one he'd just used to light up the cave, had made Arthur's knights stop. Only then had Arthur said, "Leave him, he won't last long anyway." And with his hand raised high he’d given the order to retreat while Merlin watched him from behind the fire.

Arthur had taken the wrath of his father, standing straight and with his jaw clenched tight.

"Merlin is no criminal, father. He used his magic to save your life.”

"He is a sorcerer." Uther's face was stern, words strong and brooking no disagreement.

"Then perhaps you are wrong and not all magic is evil," Arthur said. "I refuse to believe Merlin is evil."

"Your judgment is clouded by that boy. He must have bewitched you. I’ll hear no more of it. Make sure his body is found."

Arthur's orders were clear back then: "Don't go looking farther than a day-ride radius." If Merlin's body was found, report to Arthur and Arthur only. "Go first," he'd added to Gwaine, pushing a rolled-up sack with medicaments from Gaius. Gwaine had nodded once and rushed out of the room. Arthur wasn't surprised when Gwaine returned only after Uther's death.

But Arthur couldn’t tell this to Merlin because he _had_ been the one who shot the arrow, after all.

"Uther is dead," he said instead, willing Merlin to understand—and maybe appreciate—that the first thing Arthur had done after the hastened coronation was to set out to find Merlin. It was reckless for a new king, for any king, to go on lone quests instead of sending out his knights to do his bidding. But this was the one matter he had to settle himself before returning to attend to Camelot.

"So I’ve heard," Merlin said, and some of the tension seemed to leave his shoulders. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"My father... I mourn my father, Merlin, but he was wrong about so many things that perhaps it's better for Camelot to be rid of him."

When Merlin spoke again there was caution in his voice. "And you believe you'll be a better king?"

"Yes," Arthur said, and his heart started to pound again. “If you come back to Camelot to help me.”

Merlin stayed silent for a while, as if processing what Arthur had just said, then he slowly slumped down to the ground, sitting heavily by the fire.

“Merlin.” Arthur crouched down to sit beside Merlin, his heart contracting at the thought of how familiar this felt after so many nights spent with Merlin by the fire on various scouting or hunting trips. "You need to come back to Camelot."

Merlin sighed and shook his head, causing his hair to ripple around his face. He chuckled but it wasn’t the sound that Arthur had missed so much, the one of carefree laughter. "Gods, you really think that the whole world is yours to rule, Arthur, don't you. You haven't changed a bit. And how exactly do you envision my return to Camelot? Because I can't walk back into your chambers singing ‘rise and shine.’ Not with everyone knowing what I am."

And when Arthur didn’t answer, not knowing what to say not to spoil this, not knowing how to make Merlin understand, Merlin shook his head again.

"No, Arthur. I’m sorry, but I can’t."

Arthur couldn’t say he hadn’t expected this, but it still felt like a blow. The rejection left a metallic taste in Arthur's mouth, like after he'd been hit with the back of a sword.

He stood up to leave, but Merlin grabbed his hand, pulling him down to the ground again."Sit. Stay till dawn. Wouldn't want Camelot’s new king to fall down a cliff in the dark and break his neck." There was strength and authority in Merlin's voice Arthur had never heard before. It was similar to the way Arthur ordered the knights when he led them into battle. But it was the cheeky, teasing tone underneath that made Arthur obey and sit back on the ground.

Merlin pushed his hair back and Arthur did his best not to gasp at the sight of a long, ugly scar on Merlin's cheek.

Merlin caught Arthur’s gaze. "No, this one isn't yours. Yours was much closer to my heart." And with that Merlin stood up to rummage through some things by the back wall, leaving Arthur by the fire.

Dinner was cooked in silence. When Merlin placed a bowl of food by the fire and pointed, Arthur grabbed it with gratitude. He wasn’t surprised Merlin wouldn’t hand it to him.

Merlin sat opposite and ate, too, shoving the scraps of barely cooked meat and roots into his mouth with his fingers. Arthur suspected he must have been given Merlin's only spoon, but perhaps Merlin always ate like this now. There was something unsettling about watching Merlin hunched over his plate, chewing half-cooked meat in silence. He looked nearly feral, and Arthur scolded himself internally, for Merlin was not some tame animal gone wild.

After they'd eaten Merlin whistled, a low, short sound, and there was a loud screech outside the cave in response, then a gust of wind and the flapping of heavy wings. Before Arthur could brace himself for whatever beast was approaching, a mess of white scales, claws and wings stumbled into the cave.

Arthur scrambled to his feet and jumped back, hitting his head on the low ceiling. For a moment he was blinded with pain, but the surge of adrenaline sobered him up fast enough so he could gasp and inhale, ready to fight whatever it was.

The creature made a turn and growled, the sound low and dark as if coming from the heart of the earth.

"Dragons are extinct," Arthur whispered and the beast snarled, spitting fire right in front of Arthur's feet.

"Aithusa," Merlin said in a voice that didn’t sound like Merlin at all, and the dragon stilled, frozen in front of Arthur.

"She doesn't appreciate the reference to the extinction of her species," Merlin said, walking to the dragon and placing his palm on her neck.

"She?"

"Yes. This is Aithusa, my..." Merlin hesitated. "I guess you could say she's my dragon, as much as dragons belong to anyone." He scratched the dragon's neck, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb—a gesture so familiar to Arthur, who’d seen Merlin do it hundreds of times to calm spooked horses. But the creature was still taut and tense and emitting a hushed low growl, like anger was boiling up in her chest.

"Aithusa," Merlin said again, and he added something that sounded like old language to Arthur, only harder and more primal. The dragon slowly backed away and then turned, stepping to the other side of the cave where she lay down on the ground, eyes still set on Arthur and little puffs of smoke coming from her nostrils, visible even in the flickering light of the fire. Merlin sat down next to her and reached for the last bits of his meal, feeding the scraps of meat to the dragon. Arthur wondered if this was the reason Merlin was eating his meat half-raw.

He sat back down too, rubbing is head. His fingers came up clean as he examined the bump, so at least he hadn’t cut his skin. Merlin was settling for the night, no pallet, no blanket; he just lay next to the dragon and curled on his side with his back pressed to Aithusa. Perhaps he was shielding Arthur from the creature, and perhaps he always slept like this these days. Arthur wouldn't know. After a while Arthur lay down too, inching as close to the fire as possible and wrapping his cloak around him to keep warm. He looked across the cave. He missed Merlin, missed the way they had once shared their body heat during cold nights outside of Camelot. But he was in no position to demand this of Merlin now.

The fire was slowly diminishing, its last flames dying and leaving only smouldering branches as a source of heat. From the other side of the cave a different source of light emerged, silvery but dim, but before Arthur could see what it was it flickered and died.

"A dragonlord, are you?" Arthur asked in the darkness, and he heard a small shuffle on the other side of the cave in lieu of an answer. There was no other explanation for the obedience of the dragon and the ancient language Merlin had used. "What else should I have known about you?" Arthur added, trying to keep the bitterness from his voice and failing. Even after all this time it still hurt that Merlin hadn’t trusted Arthur enough to share his secrets. Especially since Arthur surely kept no secrets from Merlin. He might have fooled everyone else, but never Merlin.

Arthur met with no answer, but maybe it was for the best. He closed his eyes. Despite his exhaustion sleep wouldn't come, and Arthur lay awake, listening to the dragon’s puffs and Merlin's shuffling. Somewhere in the back of the cave water was dripping, the cold tap-tap-tap of it making Arthur shiver more. Merlin’s breath evened up after some time, and the familiar sound of it stirred something in Arthur's chest, tightening his lungs and making him long for times past. He focused on the rhythm of it, though, trying to match his own with it, while his thoughts kept up their anxious dance in his head.

 

He dreamt of ice water, black and heavy, closing over his head. He was falling to the bottom where there was no light. His limbs were immobile, and the pressure in his chest kept rising to the point where his lungs screamed. He woke gasping for air, tangled in the damp wool of his cloak.

The cave was still dimly lit with the silvery light again, and Arthur could now see the white-blue crystals on the back walls, glowing like a moon and reflecting some images disturbingly similar to Arthur’s dream. On the other side of the embers sat Merlin, his eyes set on Arthur, watching him so intently that Arthur felt as if he’d drowned in that black water after all. Merlin was silent and still, his hands calm on his knees, and as Arthur kept his eyes locked with Merlin’s, dread crept up his spine because this Merlin wasn’t the one Arthur had once known. So Arthur lay there, not daring to make a move, until Merlin held up his hand, made a small gesture with it in the air, and Arthur’s eyes rolled back and closed, the pitch blackness claiming him again.

This time Arthur dreamt of Merlin’s hands, fingers gentle and efficient as they dressed Arthur, tying up laces and straightening up the fabrics. Arthur’s gaze followed Merlin’s arms to where Merlin’s collarbones were visible—no neckerchief covering them. In his dream Arthur allowed himself to slowly trace the outline of Merlin’s long bones, then he moved his fingertips to Merlin’s jaw, then lips. He followed the curve of Merlin’s mouth, letting his thumb linger there. He longed to cradle Merlin’s face and lean in for a kiss, but even his dreaming self knew it was impossible.

When he next woke, grey daylight was filtering through the entrance of the cave and there was water dripping everywhere. Wind whistled and Arthur hesitantly stood up and approached the entrance—outside the world was hidden by a wall of rain and snow, and everything was blurry, wet and white. Arthur was shivering hard. The cold had really got to him after the night spent on the stone floor of the cave. It might have been only a few days since he’d last slept in his warm bed in Camelot, but already it felt like an eternity.

Merlin and the little dragon were nowhere to be seen, but there was a wooden bowl of greyish gruel placed next to the ashes of last night’s fire. Arthur wasn’t sure if that was left for him, but he grabbed it anyway, sighing with pleasure to find it warm. He kept it in his hands, waiting for his fingers to feel less numb, and then took the spoon from last night and ate. He didn’t really mind the taste as long as it was warm in his stomach.

Outside the wind blew harder, and in the next blast of it Merlin entered the cave, dripping water and coughing. He put down a bucket of water, dropped the damp wood he was holding under his arm, and then slipped down a couple of small furry animals that were draped over his shoulder. They hit the ground with a heavy smack.

“We need something to eat during the next day or so,” Merlin said to Arthur’s raised eyebrow.

Arthur stood up. “I have to go back to Camelot. I’m needed there. I have responsibilities and people will start getting anxious if I’m not home soon to carry them out.”

“Don’t be daft.” Merlin grabbed a skin from where it was rolled by the wall and placed it over the entrance, diminishing the inflow of snow and water into the cold cave. He must have sealed it with a spell because the skin that had kept flapping at first straightened up and blocked the wind completely. “There’s no chance you’ll get home alive in this weather. How did you manage to come up here alone anyway?”

“I left Leon in charge of the kingdom and Gwaine in charge of the knights.” At Merlin’s expression Arthur laughed. “Which, in hindsight, might not have been the best idea. Anyway, I told them I was going to the Druids and that I had to do it alone, to make peace and bless the new reign.”

“And did you?”

“Yes.” Arthur thought of the little camp he visited, so unobtrusive and so poor, and of the people there who’d welcomed him with supper and mead even though he’d wronged them on more than one occasion. “The alliance with the Old Religion is important if I’m to even think of overcoming Morgana. But that wasn’t the reason I wanted to talk to the Druids. You were. I needed to find you.”

Merlin’s hands were trembling when he unlaced all the straps of his coat and draped it over a log by the ashes. He moved the wood into the fire pit and lit the flames with a spell. The moist logs hissed, and vapour and smoke curled over them in circles. Arthur thought of helping but he wasn’t sure what he could do, so he sat idly and watched Merlin undress further until he was bare-chested. Merlin’s hair was wet too, and droplets of water flowed from its ends down Merlin’s chest like little rivers. Arthur watched them, transfixed as they flew over ink-markings just next to Merlin’s collarbone that Arthur was sure Merlin hadn’t had before, and then down to where an irregular, star-shaped scar reminded Arthur of an arrow wound that couldn’t heal fast enough. Arthur felt his insides turn at the thought of Merlin lying somewhere in those mountains, alone and sick with fever, his wound raw and dripping.

But Merlin kept undressing, and soon Arthur was breathless for yet another reason. He realized he’d never seen Merlin completely naked before, which was odd because certainly Merlin had seen _Arthur_ naked plenty of times. And here Merlin was, pale and long-limbed, with his back turned to Arthur as he fumbled with the bucket and a cloth that must have been warm because it emitted a small mist with each pass it made on Merlin’s skin. Merlin moved his hair out of his face and tied it up with a strap of leather. The gash on his cheek was more visible now—long and dark, almost reaching his eye. Arthur wanted to run his fingers over it, to erase it and turn back time to when Merlin was young and whole and not wearing the reminders of Arthur’s betrayal on his body.

“Be my guest.” Merlin gestured to the bucket and the washcloth. “The water’s hot.”

Arthur eyed the washcloth and water. It was tempting, as he felt sticky with sweat after the trek up here. He could bet he didn't smell that nice either, although it wasn't a thing to be concerned about. He really had to head back, though. Leon could keep up appearances for only so long, and even Arthur's quest with the Druids, important as it had been, could only take so many days. People would start to worry. And to doubt.

He looked at Merlin's body, slim but strong, smooth skin glistening in the light of the fire, and he swallowed.

"I need to go back." He made no move to exit, though.

Merlin tutted and shook his head at Arthur as if he were a petulant child, then pulled on some linen trousers he'd dug from a leather bag. He sat down by the fire, still bare-chested, and started to skin the groundhogs he'd brought.

Arthur sighed and started to unlace his clothes, turning his back to Merlin and feeling oddly self-conscious as if Merlin hadn't seen him undress before, as if he hadn't bathed him a thousand times before.

"What's the drawing on your chest?" he asked, just to avoid the awkward tension.

"It's…” Merlin cleared his throat. “It's a tree."

"Tree?" Arthur repeated absentmindedly. The washcloth was still warm and felt like bliss when Arthur ran it over his skin. He might have sighed with pleasure, though he still wished he had a whole tub of hot water he could immerse his body in. Outside the cave the wind moaned, though the magical flap kept the frigid breeze out.

"It's a reminder. So I keep my magic grounded with its roots."

"And does it do its job?" Arthur turned back to Merlin. It was the first time Merlin had willingly acknowledged his magic to Arthur. And the Druids had told such tales, Arthur was genuinely interested to find out what Merlin would have to say.

Merlin seemed thoughtful. He bit his lip and then looked up at Arthur, his eyes so blue it took Arthur's breath away for a second and made him pause mid-motion, washcloth forgotten, waiting for Merlin to respond.

"Sometimes. Most of the times it does. Before, there were moments when it just...” Merlin spread his arms. "When the magic lashed out, I guess? Right after I ran from Camelot, when I was too angry to hold it still. The Druids made the drawing to work as a lock, to keep accidents from happening."

Arthur nodded. He didn’t understand how magic worked, but if only Merlin would let him in, Arthur would do everything to try.

He didn't have any clean clothes, so he settled on pulling on just his breeches, much like Merlin, and he sat by the fire too, basking in the warmth of it.

"And the dragon?" he asked when the silence became unbearable again.

“What about the dragon?” Merlin looked up, confused.

“Where’s your dragon?”

“Ah. She doesn’t like to be cooped up in a storm.”

At the memory of Merlin speaking to the dragon, a sudden wave of sadness washed over Arthur. "There’s so many things I don't know about you. All this time I thought you were someone else." _I thought you were mine._ "I wish you’d trusted me more."

"I'm sorry," Merlin said, and he looked so miserable in that moment that Arthur's first reaction was to reach out to pull him into a hug and tell him it didn't matter. He resisted it, though, and settled for a tight smile.

“You could have at least told me you had a baby, though,” he chuckled. “She takes after you, you know. All pale and bony and spitting fire.”

Merlin laughed, and for a moment it felt like they were just Merlin and Arthur again.

There was nothing to do in the storm, so Arthur settled on the ground, pulling his cloak under his back and listening to Merlin's small movements as Merlin prepared their meal. The feeling of familiarity lingered, making it seem like they were back camping in the woods. It made the knot in Arthur's chest loosen up a bit. He watched the smoke from the fire go up to the low ceiling of the cave, swirl there, and then slowly crawl to the cave opening like a lazy serpent. Clearly Merlin's magic was at work because there wasn't any natural way for the smoke to exit. _Useful_ , he thought, dozing off.

He woke up shivering again and cursed himself for not thinking ahead. He should've known better than to fall asleep half naked on the icy stone. He couldn't tell how much time had passed, but it seemed that the storm was still in full force and that it was darker in the cave than before.

Merlin was lying next to him on a bundle of skins, motionless but with his eyes open. He turned his head to Arthur and watched Arthur's attempts to cover himself up.

"Oh, by the gods!" he finally said, motioning to the place beside him. "Come here."

Arthur hesitated, but another wave of shivers made up his mind for him, and he scooted next to Merlin, allowing Merlin to throw the furry skins over them both. In the silence of the cave where only the fire cracked it felt peaceful, yet Arthur's heart raced from the contact of Merlin's bare skin where their arms touched. He turned to face Merlin, watching the delicate features of Merlin's face in the dim light. Again, he felt a pang of remorse at the sight of the scar cutting Merlin's cheek in two. On an impulse he raised his arm and touched the line with his fingertips. He thought he felt Merlin shiver, but it could have been him projecting his own feelings.

"How did this happen?" he asked.

"It was stupid, really, as usual for me," Merlin whispered with a self-deprecating smile. Arthur could feel Merlin's warm breath on his face. It made him want to get even closer to Merlin, maybe close enough to shake him and tell him that he’d never really thought Merlin stupid. "It was just a bunch of thugs. They wanted to have fun. One of them threw a knife, and I wasn't fast enough, is all." 

Arthur wondered if by having fun Merlin meant what Arthur thought he did. He could see how men could want Merlin that way. He'd always thought Merlin somewhat beautiful, with those huge eyes and full mouth of his. But Arthur would never dare. As much as he’d desired it, he could never have put Merlin in that position. Not that he didn't believe Merlin could defend himself against an unwanted pass. But out of some decency, or a need to keep their friendship intact, or maybe even out of fear that Merlin would say no, Arthur’d always refrained.

But here, now, with Merlin lying next to Arthur, his mouth so close—so, so close—his breathing fast, cheeks flushed where the skin wasn't concealed under his beard, just maybe he could risk it. After all, Merlin wasn’t Arthur’s servant anymore.

Merlin seemed enchanted by the caressing touch of Arthur's thumb on his cheek. Arthur looked into Merlin’s eyes, and when he was almost sure that Merlin wanted this too, with a thudding heart he leaned towards Merlin and kissed him, revelling in the soft, warm touch of Merlin's lips under his.

Merlin tensed up and drew a little breath but he didn't back away, didn't shove Arthur off, didn't push him. And after a heartbeat he opened his mouth for Arthur and moved his hands to hug him, dragging him in closer. The kiss felt like summer to Arthur—a heady summer night, hot and thick and full of promises—tucked within the icy cave of winter. Magic, indeed. He pushed at Merlin’s shoulder until Merlin lay on his back with Arthur leaning on him, their legs entangled. He ran his fingers through Merlin’s long strands, thinking that he loved Merlin’s hair like this, that Merlin should have always had it long, curly and messy. Merlin’s beard was prickly, and Arthur was sure his lips and face would feel raw the next day, but it was even better to feel it all the way, to have the contrast between the soft plushness of Merlin’s mouth and the harsh rasping of his beard.

Arthur backed off from the kiss to once again caress Merlin’s face with his thumbs. Gods, was Merlin beautiful, with his eyes closed, eyelashes thick and long, and lips red and moist from the kisses. Arthur shifted his weight a bit and suddenly he was pressing his groin to what could only be Merlin’s cock—hard and thick under Arthur. Arthur wriggled more, trapping Merlin’s body underneath his, and thrust against him.

“Ungh,” was Merlin’s response. That and the further parting of his lips. Arthur liked that. He thrust again.

“Do you want this?” Arthur asked.

When Merlin nodded, Arthur thought he maybe should explain, make Merlin see this wasn’t only about now—that he’d always wanted this. But all that was lost in the exhilarating feeling of how warm and solid and pliant Merlin’s body was underneath Arthur’s.

For a while they kissed and rutted against each other, rolling on their sides. Arthur ran his hands over Merlin’s back, stopping only when he encountered the thick scar tissue where the arrow must have pierced through. Suddenly his wrist was grabbed by something hot and sharp like a heated poker, and he was pushed from Merlin, pinned down to the stone floor by some invisible force.

“Oh gods, sorry,” Merlin gasped, sitting up straight above him, looking horrified.

It took only a swoosh of air for the hot binding on Arthur’s wrist ease up so he could move again. He looked at his skin, reddened where it had been pressed with the magic rod. He took a breath. And then pulled Merlin back for a kiss.

"How can you trust me like this?"

Arthur smiled into the kiss. "If you wanted me harmed I'd have died years ago."

“Yes.” Merlin hovered over Arthur in the dim light, tense and cautious. “But I’m not sure I can control my magic when I’m… emotional.”

Arthur considered that for a moment. Could Merlin’s magic really go haywire and hurt him? Or was it integral to Merlin, an extension of him that would never do harm to a person dear to Merlin’s heart?

He mulled this over while moments passed with Merlin still and silent above him. And then Arthur said, “Well, I guess there’s only one way to find out.” He smiled, looking straight into Merlin’s eyes, and added teasingly, “In fact, I kind of liked that.”

And just like that Merlin relaxed, the corner of his lip going up in a way Arthur missed like hell. “Oh, did you now?” A magical thread appeared out of nowhere and bound Arthur’s wrists above his head. Then, after another moment of hesitation on Merlin’s part, the shimmering line wrapped itself tightly over Arthur’s throat. It felt both cold and warm, like a heated cloth leaving a cool sensation in its wake when used on a hot day. Arthur gasped and swallowed and then stopped struggling.

Merlin looked otherworldly like this—flushed and with a fierce expression on his face, eyes glowing and chest heaving. He didn’t move, just sat there watching Arthur. And then slowly heat crawled up Arthur’s chest where an invisible caress brushed his skin. His whole body hummed with anticipation. He _wanted_.

“Yes,” he said.

Merlin reached down to unlace Arthur’s breeches, and then he shed both their trousers. Merlin’s cock was long and thick, hard and glistening with the first beads of seed. It brushed over Arthur’s, and oh, it might have been the most glorious feeling in Arthur’s whole life.

He would’ve grabbed Merlin and pulled him in, but the only thing he could do was watch, immobilized, as Merlin reached behind and opened himself up on his fingers for Arthur. When Merlin finally moved, positioning Arthur’s blunt cockhead against his entrance and then pushing back, Arthur gasped at the slick, hot feeling. He wondered if Merlin had made it so with his magic, for he didn’t see any oil around them. But soon he stopped thinking about anything at all—the only thing that mattered was how tight it was inside of Merlin, how good, how _right_. When Merlin straightened up they both gasped from the feeling of Arthur’s cock sheathed all the way inside.

“Gods,” Arthur said, hoping Merlin would understand, that what he’d hear in this would be, _I’ve never, Merlin. I’ve never felt this towards anyone, not like for you. I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want you._

Arthur ached to move. He wanted to sit up and kiss Merlin. He wanted to run his palms over Merlin’s skin. He wanted to grip him hard, flip them over, and then fuck him rough and fast until he’d come inside, marking Merlin his. But the bindings were tight and hot against Arthur’s wrists and throat, pushing on his Adam’s apple whenever he struggled to move. His muscles shook. His heart raced.

He wasn’t above begging.

“Merlin, please.”

He realized his hands were balled into fists, so he released them and then curled them up again, his whole body tense.

“Please.”

Merlin finally, finally started to move, gently at first, just rocking back and forth. Arthur shut his eyes for a moment, just feeling it, wondering if his body had been set on fire. There was no mercy for him, no water to cool it down, no release awaiting him in any foreseeable future—just Merlin and Merlin’s will and Arthur’s obedience or maybe Arthur’s surrender. He opened his eyes again only to see Merlin biting his lip in concentration, his eyes set on Arthur, assessing, as if he was checking to see how much sweet torture Arthur could take.

Arthur wanted to scream that there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t take from Merlin. But he kept quiet, just pleading in his head for Merlin to go faster.

As Merlin moved, Arthur thought he saw the light in the cave vanish bit by bit. The edges of the cave became blurred and dark, and the only thing visible now was Merlin’s body—silver and gleaming. If Arthur didn’t know any better he’d say that Merlin must have sucked all the light into himself. He moved like light, too, Arthur thought, as if he were a bit fluid, liquid, lost in the way he was circling his hips, making Arthur’s cock push deeper and deeper. Merlin’s eyes were half closed now and glowing too. Golden light seeped through the lashes.

Arthur watched him, transfixed and not daring to breathe deeper so as not to spoil this moment.

But when the ground shook and rumbled underneath them, he reckoned he might have underestimated Merlin’s force.

“Merlin.”

The bonds on Arthur’s wrists and throat had tightened. He pushed against them, but it was like trying to break a metal chain. He felt a brief wave of panic but willed his heart to calm down. “Merlin. Release me.”

Merlin looked down slowly but kept moving. The binds held fast.

Arthur kept still. “Merlin. One hand, all right?”

After what felt like an eternity, Merlin inhaled and the magical rope on Arthur’s right wrist vanished. Arthur brought his free hand to Merlin’s chest, right over the drawing that was there. _A tree,_ Merlin had said. Somehow it fitted him, Arthur realized. He had always thought of Merlin as some kind of an animal spirit, but now he saw that Merlin was much more resilient, much stronger than any flesh-and-blood creature. He splayed his fingers, keeping the connection.

Merlin brought both of his hands to grip Arthur’s wrist and hold on to him while he resumed his movements. He then leaned his head down and kissed the tips of Arthur’s fingers, soft and fleeting.

After, everything slowed. Merlin rocked his body back and forth, still holding onto Arthur’s hand. Finally, he brought his head back, arched, and spent, his cock pulsing hot seed onto Arthur’s stomach.

For a while everything was silent—Merlin still above Arthur, breathing hard. The magical bonds disappeared, but Arthur didn’t move either, waiting for Merlin to calm down. And when he was sure Merlin was okay, he placed both of his hands on Merlin’s hips and pulled him, thrusting up. Merlin’s lips parted again and he moaned. Arthur had no idea if it was because he couldn’t take much more or if he liked that, but Arthur was way past thinking straight—he just had to move, he had to go on. And once, twice, thrice he pushed up, as deep as he could, and then he spent too, his eyes falling shut as he spilled long and hard into Merlin.

There was still buzzing in his ears when he pulled on Merlin’s arm. “Come on. Come here.” Merlin lay down on top of Arthur, covering him up with his cooling body. Arthur’s cock slipped out of Merlin, soft and spent, leaving a trail of seed behind that glowed in the faint light of the crystals.

***

“I need to go back,” Arthur said into the crook of Merlin’s neck. It smelled warm and Merlin-ish here, and Arthur felt physical pain at the thought of having to abandon this soon. They were curled up under the furs, and Arthur didn’t think he’d ever felt this whole in his entire life. “They must be getting anxious. It’s been eight days already. I have to be back in a fortnight or Leon will send out a search party.”

“’Morning,” Merlin mumbled, half asleep, warm and loose-limbed next to Arthur. “We’ll talk in the morning.” He snuggled into Arthur, pushing his legs in between Arthur’s.

Arthur tightened his grip on Merlin’s body, still in awe such a slender frame could hold such immense power. He could still feel the heat of magical bindings on his skin. He wondered what Merlin’s magic could do at his whim: make Arthur speechless, or make him blind if he only wanted to, or perhaps make him fly. The idea of being vulnerable to Merlin’s bidding made his cheeks flame with heat. He tried to think of the morning, and how he would leave this cocoon of warmth to find Camelot again in the snow.

Merlin’s breath was even and slow, but by the set of his body Arthur could tell Merlin wasn’t totally asleep, just resting. Arthur moved his hand up to Merlin’s neck and played with Merlin’s slightly damp hair curling underneath Arthur’s fingers.

“I’ve asked Gwen to marry me,” he said, his voice catching. He kept stroking Merlin’s hair. Maybe in another life and in another time he’d be granted the possibility to keep Merlin in his arms for all the nights yet to come.

“Camelot needs a queen and she’ll be perfect,” Merlin said. His voice was muffled but steady, even if Arthur heard a touch of sadness in it.

When Arthur next spoke, words spilled and wouldn’t stop, and his mind reeled over possibilities that were quite improbable. “Give me five years, Merlin. One year. Gwen will settle as Camelot’s queen. Then, I’ll die in battle. You’ll make it look real.” He laced their hands together and rubbed his thumb over Merlin’s knuckles. “And then we’ll escape and just… grow old together. Get a farm. Live like normal people.”

And when Merlin didn’t reply, Arthur added, “Gwen will be a good queen when I’m gone. Leon will help.”

Merlin snuggled closer yet. “That sounds good,” he murmured.

Silence fell later as they contemplated both the future they had and the one they would never have. They both knew some things were not to be theirs.

***

Arthur woke up to the absence of noise, and for a moment he wasn't sure what had changed. He reached with his hand for Merlin but met only air. He opened his eyes to see Merlin dressed and standing stiffly in front of the cave entrance. The leather strip obscuring the hole leading to the cave was gone, and the sun, bright and icy-white, shone through.

Arthur got to his feet, grabbing his clothes and swiftly pulling his breeches over his hips. "It has cleared up!" he exclaimed, moving towards the entrance, thinking how odd it was for weather to change this dramatically in just a few hours. And oh. _Oh._

He turned to Merlin.

"It was you, wasn't it? The storm?" He wasn't sure how much power it actually took to control the weather, but apparently Merlin was strong enough to do this.

Merlin nodded, pale and silent, avoiding Arthur's gaze.

"Why?"

When Merlin spoke he sounded embarrassed. "I guess..." He shrugged, as if wanting to make light of it. "I guess I just didn't want you to go right away."

Arthur bit down the horrible feeling of yet another betrayal. After all, he hadn't given Merlin any reasons to trust him. At least not when the snowstorm had started. Still, some of the hurt must have lingered in his voice when he said, "You could've asked me. I'd have stayed if you’d just asked."

Merlin looked so miserable though that Arthur didn't have the heart to torture him any longer.

“There will always be a place for you at Camelot,” he said, turning around to finish getting dressed and to gather up his things. He’d never stop hoping for Merlin to change his mind.

“I…” Merlin seemed at a loss for words. He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

Arthur nodded, because he couldn’t ask Merlin for more sacrifices than he’d already made. His fingers felt stiff and odd, like they belonged to the body of someone who’d come here ages ago, not a young king out for less than a fortnight. The laces on his boots kept tangling and Arthur cursed, willing his hands to steady. When he was ready he stood up to see Merlin rooted to the spot, motionless, as though he were a part of the surroundings—a sculpture of a cave sprite carved into the stone.

"Take good care of yourself, Merlin," Arthur said, swallowing down the emotions that threatened to spill. "Despite of what you think, I can't bear the thought of you being hurt."

He wanted to shake Merlin, grab him, and drag him along to Camelot. He wanted to shout, _Can't you see? I've never loved another the way I love you. You thought you kept secrets from me. Well,_ you _are my only secret._ But instead he looked at Merlin one last time, ducked under the entrance, and left Merlin behind.

After, Arthur couldn’t recall the trek down the mountain. All he could remember was the horrible pressure in his chest, the feeling of being pushed over the edge, of drowning as he moved methodically. He was sure he might not be able to ever breathe freely in his life again. He stood for a moment at the bottom of the mountain where the road forked, wiping the sweat off his neck and clenching his teeth. _Responsibility_ , he thought. _Promises. His people._ He wished he could cast it all aside, but he straightened up, set his gaze ahead, and pushed through melting snow, every step bringing him closer to Camelot.

He must have been halfway down the mountain when he heard a roar, and then the swoosh of huge, huge wings in the air. He threw himself on the ground, searching for cover. But when he looked up he saw a dragon, and not just any dragon. An enormous brown and green creature was cutting through the wind, his gigantic body gliding through the air with no effort. Merlin sat atop it, dressed in skins stitched together so they resembled armour. His hair, tangled by the wind, curled over his cheeks. The dragon landed next to Arthur with a dull, heavy thump followed by a smaller swoosh of air when Aithusa landed right behind it.

Arthur clung to the ground, thinking how cold it was underneath his fingertips. He focused on the shape of pebbles and twigs, for he couldn’t allow himself to think why Merlin might be here.

“I was wrong,” Merlin said.

Arthur looked up into Merlin’s eyes. “Obviously. But about what in particular?”

Merlin chuckled. “I was going to say that you’ve changed after all, but apparently you haven’t.”

Arthur shook his head, smiled, and pushed himself up, walking cautiously on the path clear of the great dragon’s smoky breath.

“I was wrong about not going back with you.” Merlin looked a bit unsure. “If you still want me?”

“I’ll always want you, Merlin.” He met Merlin’s eyes and for a moment they held their gazes, the air weirdly charged around them. Arthur cleared his throat. “What made you change your mind?”

Merlin opened his mouth to say something, blinked, and then he said, his voice very serious, “I’m getting too old to sleep on the cold ground.”

Arthur startled and then put his palms flat on his thighs, threw his head back, and laughed. “Well, I’m sure Camelot has a spare room with a soft bed for your bony arse.”

“Oh. I thought… Can’t I just go back to my old place?”

Arthur kept smiling. “Hardly suitable for a court sorcerer and the king’s most trusted advisor, is it?”

Merlin leaned down, hiding his grin. “So, have you ever flown a dragon, my king?” he asked, extending his hand to Arthur.

When Arthur hesitated, the dragon inclined his head and said in a rumbly voice, “It’ll be a privilege to carry the Once and Future King.”

Arthur startled, but before he could say anything, hot magical ropes yanked him atop the dragon behind Merlin. Arthur’s breath left him in a small shudder, and he pressed himself firmly to Merlin’s back. So Merlin’s magic really _could_ make him fly, he thought in amusement.

“Hold on!” Merlin shouted while the dragon pushed himself into the air, turning towards Camelot.

The future would be complicated; there were dark times and hard choices yet ahead of them, but they would face them together.


End file.
